Europe

Day 4: 22nd September ’10

Distance: 59.26 miles
Total Distance: 224.14 miles
Route: La Herradura » Otivar » Granada

A ridiculously steep exit from ‘La Herradura’ is a rude awakening for my not yet warmed up legs. I locate the road to ‘Otivar’ after a few false starts. Mile after mile, as I slowly climb up from the valley floor, I see the greatest collection of fruit trees I have ever seen. I stop to investigate and work out that there is only one crop in this region. Equally bizarre to look at as its name is improbable; behold the mighty ‘Custard Fruit’ !

I climb higher and higher confident that I have the stamina and energy to quickly reach the 1200m summit. Unbelievably, the mercury reaches 34 degrees in the late September sun and I run out of water shortly after a false summit. There are no houses for miles and am forced to slog and punish my energy-sapped and dehydated legs.

Mercifully, the true summit finally materialises and I coast nearly 20 miles downhill to Granada and refreshment. I find a very well run and attractive ‘Hostal’ in the centre of town.

In the evening I walk up to the Alhambara. On the way, I walk past a young guy playing tunefully on a guitar. I stoop as I walk past and place a few coins in his case. “Err Bueno… Gracias” is his somewhat bemused response. I walk a little further up the lane to realise that it is a dead-end and the guitarist had been practicising on the step of his house. I pretend to photograph the Graffiti at the end of the street, double-back and nod as I pass a second time.

Day 5: 23rd September ’10

Distance: 58.44 miles
Total Distance: 282.58 miles
Route: Granada » Pico Veleta (Not Quite) » Granada

[Extract from blog entry 23rd September: I had neither time, strength or desire for diary writing on this particular day!]

Today was the big day, the main event as I headed up to climb the Pico Veleta. Only Mother (Flipper) Nature had other ideas. Mile for mile the most painful, energy sapping, Cerebal Edema-inducing ride of my life. After 26 miles of slog, I managed to approach the summit. It was windier than the staff canteen at Heinz, and had started to rain. It took nearly all the energy I could muster just to keep the bike upright.

Suddenly, the cloud-level dropped. Just like a curtain; in the space of two minutes I couldn’t see much more than 200 metres and it was very chilly indeed. A few cars and a huge truck slowed as they passed me – signalling that I shouldn’t head further. Thought that I would wait and see what happened under the cover of a large boulder. 10 minutes later, and a couple in a ‘Sierra Nevada Regional’ official-looking van stopped. They spoke English and were adamant that I headed down the mountain. They had reports of 120 kmh winds at the summit, and said it was raining much harder there. They offered me a lift back down in the van, but I politely refused. I think I was hoping to wait a little longer and then see if I could head up further. Nonsense. Even though I failed Maths A-Level, I can make the quick calculation that 120 kmh equates to roughly 75 mph.

So, Pico Veleta puts one over on me straight away. I decide that I have many more things I want to do in life, people I’d quite like to see again – and so reluctantly, guttedly, heart-wrenchingly head back down the mountain. This in itself is no mean feat; It’s incredibly cold on the descent, despite a change of cycle mitts for proper gloves, and full wet-weather kit. Keeping the bike in a straight line is far from easy, even though I slow down as much as possible. I get drenched, absolutely soaked. The wettest I have ever been on a bike. The only solace is that the freezing cold shower simulator I find myself in, slowly turns up the hot tap as I descend 2000 metres off the mountain.

God* laughs when people makes plans. I am praying** that I will get one more bite at the cherry tomorrow. If the weather is absolutely perfect when I wake, I will make one more attempt on the mountain. The thought of 26 plus miles of that agony fills with me dread, but I am determined if I get the chance to bag this b%s!ard.

(* Non denominational supreme being. ** Hoping and wishing for a change in the weather; I realise that it’s something I cannot do a single thing about)

A second attempt will mean a much more arduous return to Gibraltar than initially planned. I will have to make up the time somehow. It may not be necessary – let’s see what Mother Nature has planned tomorrow. If I can’t reach the summit – well, then I can’t. It’s that simple. I will definitely come back for the Veleta one day, but it would be so much easier to get it sorted tomorrow.